


And Now, A Word From Our Sponsors

by Raindropsonwhiskers



Series: Should I Stay-verse [4]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: (It needs to happen though), (im sorry), Angst, Established Relationship, F/M, Gallifrey, Hurt No Comfort, Self-Hatred, Spoilers for Episode: s12e10 The Timeless Children, chair theft, dodging political obligations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:13:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25764994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raindropsonwhiskers/pseuds/Raindropsonwhiskers
Summary: The Doctor finally answers the summons to Gallifrey. What could go wrong?
Relationships: The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who), Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Series: Should I Stay-verse [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1790815
Comments: 31
Kudos: 74





	And Now, A Word From Our Sponsors

**Author's Note:**

> I'm apologizing in advance for this because according to @ThoughtsCascade(who was lovely enough to beta for me!!) this is very rude of me. But the angst needs to happen, so...

“Ah, Gallifrey, you great cosmic heap of junk.” The Master sighs fondly. “Haven’t been here since… well, since the Council decided they no longer had a need for my talents. Has it gotten more boring since I left? I can’t tell.”

The Doctor doesn't reply immediately, taking a deep breath of the familiar air. "Don't think so. It seems pretty much the same as it was before the War."

They had landed at the outskirts of the Citadel, in one of the rolling fields of grass that probably belonged to Koschei’s House. She hadn’t bothered to check before parking, but it wouldn’t have made a difference either way. The Great House of Oakdown rarely acknowledged the Master these days.

In front of them stretch the towering, glittering spires of the Citadel, shining in the bright light of the twin suns. The air is warm and smells faintly sweet, like hay and childhood afternoons. It brings back memories of happier times; before the Doctor left, before the Master followed with burning hatred in his hearts, before the Time War ravaged every inch of the planet’s surface. Back when it was just Theta and Koschei and their friends, skipping class and sneaking out to other planets when they got bored of the Academy.

After taking another moment to bask in the sunslight, the Doctor says, "We should probably get a move on. Hate to keep them waiting."

The Master laughs, but takes her hand and lets her lead them toward the Citadel. It's a bit of a walk, but with the suns high in the sky and company, it seems to go by quickly.

Even the Citadel is, for the most part, unchanged by the centuries of difference. A few new buildings have popped up, the borders of the Low Town creeping ever outwards like a stain, but apart from that, it's nearly identical to the Citadel of the Doctor's youth.

Before the two Time Lords can reach the Citadel proper, they have to pass through the slums. There, at least, the Doctor feels somewhat at home. The comforting imperfection of the streets is far more welcoming than the cold, sterile precision of the buildings contained within the Citadel’s glass bubble. In her days at the Academy, she’d spent as much time here as she could get away with, and she was almost certain that she could still find some of the bars she had snuck into if she tried.

“We could go through the tunnels to get to the Panopticon,” the Doctor says idly as they turn down another side street. “Just like old times.”

The tunnels that run underneath Galifrey’s capitol are one of the best-kept secrets, and for good reason. They connect to ruins of the old Citadel, and by extension the TARDIS graveyard and the Vaults - neither of which are exactly safe places to be. The temporal distortion from the corpses of the TARDISes is strong enough to permanently warp the timelines of even a Time Lord if they were to get too close, not to mention the unpredictable way that dead TARDISes can act. But the tunnels also make for a quick way in and out of the Citadel, which the Doctor and the Master had taken full advantage of when they were younger.

“Dear, you’re the Lord President. The guards can hardly turn you away,” the Master points out. “And besides, I don’t want to show up to the High Council covered in dust and dirt. I know you delight in spiting them, but I, for one, want to look decent.”

The Doctor bristles. “I don’t delight in spiting them!”

Raising his eyebrows, the Master looks at her knowingly. After a moment, the Doctor sighs.

“Fine, maybe a little."

He grins, far too smug, and she tries to keep a fond smile off of her own lips. She fails.

Much to the Doctor’s disgruntlement, the Master turns out to be right about the guards. They’re suspicious at first, but as soon as she tells them her name, they go wide-eyed and practically run to open the doors to the Citadel.

Where the Low Town was comforting, the Citadel is familiar in the same way a recurring nightmare is. The whole place practically reeks of misused power. This part of the capitol is specifically for Time Lords, and it shows; the air is heavy with the weight of the carefully maintained timelines, all running so smoothly it almost feels unnatural. Everywhere the Doctor looks, there’s a monument to the strength and longevity of Gallifrey. Towering buildings, gardens kept neat and tidy through temporal manipulation, statues of Rassilon staring judgmentally down upon the people walking the streets.

It’s all a lie, of course. Nearly everyone living here remembers the Time War, remembers the way the Arcadia had burnt, the way the Citadel followed in the timelines they culled, the way the Doctor put a stop to the destruction at the cost of the planet and simultaneously saved it. They all know exactly how fragile all of this really is, but they pretend otherwise because it is what they were taught to do.

Both of them attract attention as they walk - of course they do. Their foreign clothing alone, far removed from the traditional robes and collars of Time Lord society, marks them as renegades. Nobody stops them, though some stare disapprovingly. The only reason renegades return to Gallifrey, much less the Citadel itself, is for trial.

The Doctor taps her fingers rapidly against the back of the Master's hand, not even trying to hide her anxiety. From the way his grip tightens on her hand and the sharpness in the back of her mind, he feels much the same. Perhaps parking the TARDIS so far from where they needed to be wasn’t the best idea.

_ “I hate it here,” _ the Doctor thinks as they pass the third statue of Rassilon.  _ “And I hate seeing him everywhere.” _

The Master helpfully sends her a very detailed mental image of the statue in question being blown to pieces. She laughs, just a little, and squeezes his hand in hers.

"You're a terrible influence," the Doctor smiles.

He looks at her. "Did you only just realize that?"

The Doctor laughs again, and for a moment she can almost forget about where they are, about the mysterious summons, about the concern creeping up her spine. Almost, but not quite. Though the fuzziness of paradoxes has faded the memories of her encounter with the other Doctor, she still remembers that  _ something _ happened in that timeline, something bad enough to push the Master to destroy Gallifrey. She hopes to avoid whatever that something is.

Her smile must drop, or perhaps she's just projecting her worry too loudly, because the Master soothes his thumb over her hand. It helps, at least a little.

Finally, they reach the Panopticon itself; the very pinnacle of Time Lord society, the meeting place of the High Council, and the Doctor's least favorite place on the planet. More guards, far better armed than the ones protecting the Citadel's barrier, block the doorway.

One of the guards eyes the two of them with suspicion as they approach. "Names and business?"

"The Doctor. I was summoned by the High Council." The Doctor pauses. "Not sure why, though, they were very vague. Quite rude of them, really."

The guard nods. "And him?"

"The Master. I'm here to cause problems." He grins.

"He's with me," the Doctor says quickly. "My, uh. My plus one."

Though he looks even more suspicious than before, the guard nods again and steps out of the doorway. When the Doctor heads through, two other guards follow her, staying a careful yard or so behind.

After a few steps, she whirls around to face them. "What're you doing?"

"We were instructed to accompany you, your Lordship," the taller of the two replies. "The High Council specifically told us that you were not to be allowed in the Panopticon alone."

"She's not alone," the Master says slowly, as though speaking to a small child. "And trust me, I'll keep her much safer than either of you could manage."

The Doctor's hearts soften at that, even though she's insulted at the Council's blatant attempt to corral her.

"The High Council said any companions that the Lord President might bring along did not count."

"I'm not a  _ companion, _ " the Master snaps. "I'm a Time Lord, and I'm sure the High Council has better things to do than send canon fodder to trail after the Lord President."

"He's right," the Doctor says. She tries for a cajoling tone. "There's gotta be something you'd rather be doing than this, right?"

"Be that as it may, your Lordship, we have our orders." The guard is careful to use the most respectful pronouns Gallifreyan has to offer, and it makes the Doctor's skin itch.

"Fine," she sighs. "But if you're going to follow me around, drop the grovelling and the 'your Lordship', will you? It's annoying. Just call me the Doctor like everyone else."

The guards look a little shocked by that, but they both hide it quickly. The Doctor knows it likely isn't their fault - they were trained to worship the ground Time Lords walked on, and it's a hard habit to break. Still, she's not going to put up with it.

The Master deliberately presses his disappointment into her mind as they continue into the Panopticon. Of course he does; he loves the pomp and circumstance and fancy titles of all of this. Even though he pretends to be above it all, he loves the ego boost.

When they reach the High Council's meeting room, the Doctor walks in, then pauses. She hears the Master's steps falter, and turns to see that the guards have stopped in front of him.

"Only the Lo- the Doctor is supposed to go in," the taller one says. "You're going to have to wait out here."

The look the Master gives them could freeze hellfire. "No, I won't."

"Sorry, what?" the Doctor says. "He's allowed to come."

"I'm sorry, your- uh-" the guard stops for a second, scrambling for the proper form of address before settling on, "the Master is not permitted. The High Council was very firm on this point. They asked for you, and you alone. He can wait out here, or in a room of his choosing within reason, until your business is completed."

The Doctor opens her mouth, fully ready to argue, when the Master sighs. "Oh, fine, if you insist."

He seems remarkably unconcerned, for how furious he'd been seconds ago. The Doctor's almost confused, until she sees the twinkle in his eyes.

"Don't kill anyone," the Doctor says firmly. "I don't want to have to rescue you from another execution."

"Only if they deserve it." The Master grins and places one hand between his hearts. "Cross my hearts. Now, go torment the High Council, dear."

He blows her a kiss, not quite sarcastic but not quite genuine, and then turns, forcing the guards to follow him lest he leave them behind. The Doctor takes a deep breath, then one more just for good measure, and walks into the meeting room.

The first thing the Doctor does when she enters the room is to ignore the chair at the head of the table, where she's clearly meant to sit. It's the only empty seat left, and the level of ostentatious ornateness means that it can only be for the Lord President.

Instead, she walks around the table, taking in the stunned faces of the members of the High Council, until she finds one who looks particularly unprepared for the situation.

"Mind if I borrow your chair?" she asks.

The Time Lord in question blinks.

"I'm not big on all the gold leaf the other one has going," the Doctor continues. "You can have it. Or! Are there spare chairs? Is there a closet somewhere in case one breaks?"

She knows there isn't, and she also knows that she might be laying it on a bit too thick. It's just so easy to slip into the deliberately obnoxious persona she hides behind, especially  _ here. _ The Doctor's seen places so horrific she can't put it into words, but at the end of the day, it's Gallifrey that makes her the most uncomfortable.

Finally, the baffled Time Lord manages to speak. "Of course, your Lordship."

The Doctor suppresses the urge to sigh at the title. If she thought it would be worth the effort, she'd try to get them to stop. They're all so caught up in the formality of it that she knows she wouldn't have a shot at persuading them, though.

After rearranging the chairs so that she can sit in the marginally less absurd one she took, the Doctor asks, "So, what do you need me for?"

One of the Council members - she doesn't know their names, they're all new and she doesn't particularly care - clears her throat. "Doctor, you commonly deal with… more esoteric threats. Some of our scanners have recently detected extradimensional creatures attempting to break into this dimension. Normally, this would not be such a dire situation, but the readings indicate that there are many of these creatures, whatever they are, and that they could cause significant distress to all adjacent dimensions as well as the one they enter."

It isn't hard for the Doctor to parse the real meaning - if those things fully manifest, they would put Gallifrey's pocket universe at risk too. The High Council is only alerting her so that she can save them, as usual.

"Furthermore," a different member says, "we would like to discuss-"

"So, where are those scanners you mentioned?" the Doctor asks brightly. She can tell that whatever he was about to say was probably going to be actual Lord President business, and she has no interest in it. "I want to get a look at the data myself!"

"Er- they're not-" The Time Lady looks desperately at the others. One of the Council members shakes his head quickly. "I mean, of course, your Lordship. Right this way."

At first, the Master stays in the rooms the guards so generously allow him to be in; the sprawling library that he's already read a good portion of thanks to the Academy, one of the small gardens on a balcony, and the hall of records. He quickly grows bored of all of them, and sets about trying to give his watchdogs the slip.

Subtly, of course, because the Doctor did ask him not to kill anyone if he could avoid it, and it's more fun that way anyhow. It's hardly difficult, because the guards are so wonderfully dull, but fun nonetheless.

After he manages to lock them into an empty meeting room, the Master heads for the real reason he left the Doctor - the Matrix chamber. The repository of all Time Lord knowledge. A databank of every Time Lord consciousness, living and dead. That, at least, should keep him occupied.

The base level of the Matrix is  _ boring, _ though. Watching the lives of countless bland Time Lords as they repeat the same basic sequence of events in slightly different but equally hideous robes gets tedious quickly. So, naturally, the Master begins to dig deeper.

High Council members' dirty secrets: mostly affairs and brief trips to other planets, dull. The previous Lord Presidents' illegal policies: nothing new, also dull. Rassilon's many, many, many crimes: again, nothing new, just dull and angering. Glimpses of Earth: nothing ne- no, that one  _ is _ interesting.

Now, why would Gallifrey, a planet so actively xenophobic they don't even let outsiders step foot planetside, have images of  _ Earth _ in the Matrix? And why is it trying so hard to keep him from caring?

The Master knows a perception filter when he feels one pressing up against his brain with all the subtlety of a freight train. Whatever those memories are, he isn't supposed to be noticing it, and he  _ certainly _ isn't supposed to peel back the filter at the edges and peek underneath. That is precisely what he does.

He sees-

a child in robes, their eyes huge and sad, alone on a planet he doesn't recognize, standing in front of some huge structure-

a woman, grey hair and a stern face, finding the child and taking them with her-

the same child, playing, falling, dying,  _ burning and changing and _ -

the woman, again, her face now cold and  _ hungry _ and the child strapped to a table, looking at her with those wide eyes full of  _ trust- _

_ burningburningburning _ dying again and again at the hands of someone they love but no longer trust, those once wide eyes now so, so tired with years of this torture but they still won't  _ die _ -

the woman gets what she wanted and now the child is tossed aside as Gallifrey blossoms, torn apart and re-loomed and-

a woman with dark skin and the same kind eyes as the child, doing horrible things against her will and returning again and again to people using her for their own goals once more-

_ the Division thanks you for your service- _

A block so strong not even the Master can break through it, not in his current state, shoves his mind out of the Matrix, leaving him gasping for breath. His head is spinning, his vision blurring as his brains race to catch up with the flood of information suddenly filling them. At some point, he'd fallen to his knees; he can hardly move now, let alone stand.

Suddenly, the Matrix chamber feels far too large, far too empty. The Master winces as he feels a headache begin and squeezes his eyes shut. That only makes things worse, though, and now the images repeating in his mind are playing out across his eyelids in a horrible loop.

It takes him a moment to realize the banging he hears isn't in his head - it's coming from the doors of the chamber. The guards must have escaped and figured out where he went. That won't do.

There's another way out of the chamber, leading deeper into the Panopticon. Though the Master dreads the thought of running in his current condition, he's unarmed and it's better than dealing with Gallifrey's farce of a judicial system. He pulls himself to his feet, then takes a leaf out of the Doctor's book and  _ runs. _

The Doctor is halfway through an unnecessarily thorough examination of the scanning equipment when she feels the Master's presence in her mind  _ flicker _ strangely. It had gone dull and distant a while ago, but she had assumed it was due to a combination of distance and boredom; now, though, she feels a dizziness flood from his mind to hers. She inhales sharply and barely catches herself on the edge of the table before she falls.

"Your Lordship?" The Time Lord blatantly keeping an eye on her looks concerned. "Are you alright?"

"Fine! Just have a bit of a headache," the Doctor lies. "You know how it is."

He nods, though his face says he very much does not know how it is.

"I think I've seen all I need to," the Doctor continues, straightening up and heading for the door. "I'll deal with it, don't worry."

The Time Lord hurries to follow her as she walks down the hall at a brisk pace, making a beeline for the feeling of the Master's mind. All she's getting from him now is psychic feedback, like he's overextended his mind somehow. It's painful enough that she draws back from their connection, leaving only the faintest trace of his mind in hers. Though what could have caused such a thing-

"Oh!" the Doctor exclaims. "The Matrix! Of course."

"Pardon?" the Time Lord asks.

She'd nearly forgotten that he was there. "Nothing!"

The Doctor makes her way to the Matrix chamber as quickly as she can, only to find the massive double doors already opened. One of the two guards from before is standing in the doorway.

When they see the Doctor, they snap to attention. "Your Lord- uh, Doctor, we tried to find you as soon as we woke up, but you weren't in the meeting room. Your companion broke into the Matrix chamber and has disappeared. My partner is attempting to find him, but I would advise that you wait here until-"

The Doctor shoves her way past the guard before they're done talking. Whatever the Master's gotten himself into, it can't be good.

As she runs, she reaches her mind out to his, but only gets feedback again. She'll have to find him through other methods, then.

The Master's not entirely sure when he got officially lost in the tunnels beneath the Panopticon, but it didn't take long. His mind is still overwhelmed from the information he'd found in the Matrix and it's been thousands of years since he last used the tunnels; really, it's a miracle he could even find the entrance. Once he's certain that he's lost the guard following him, he sinks to the ground. It's dusty and disgusting, but he needs to process and plan and find a way out of this place.

First order of business: what he saw in the Matrix. Though he's still reeling, it's not hard to put together the basics, and he can't even bring himself to be surprised by the knowledge that Gallifrey was built on the back of a suffering child. What came later worries him, though. He's never heard of the Division before - perhaps another name for the Celestial Intervention Agency, if the things he saw them do were any indicator.

And that child, the woman they regenerated into… something about her is so strangely familiar. It's just out of reach, faintly visible on the edge of his aching mind. The kindness in her eyes even as she suffered almost reminds him of

No. Surely not. He would know if she was- but didn't he always think she was  _ different, _ special, not quite like other Time Lords? That was what had drawn him to her, all those centuries ago when they were just children(or maybe not, maybe Theta Sigma was just another iteration of that same child with their memory wiped clean). He had always thought she was better than him, and here was proof.

A horrible rage fills the Master's throat. He wants to hurt something, he wants to tear Gallifrey apart brick by brick, piece by piece, person by person until it's  _ nothing, _ until it can come close to the pain that this awful, stagnant society has inflicted on the Doctor. He wants to wring every ounce of that stolen Artron energy out of the Time Lords and give it back to her, and if he has to die for it so be it. He wants to do something foolish and destructive and he wants to  _ tell her. _

She deserves to know. She deserves to know that her past was stolen from her(how many times has she found someone like him before now? How many times has she run through that tall red grass and fallen to the ground laughing and smiling and pressed a kiss to the lips of the starstruck boy following her?)

Slowly, the Master drags himself to his feet. His mind is too fried from the stress of the Matrix to find her telepathically, but if he can make it back to the TARDIS, he can contact her from there.

"If I were the Master, where would I be?" the Doctor mutters.

She's been heading deeper into the Panopticon for several minutes now, to very little avail. The last thing she got from his mind was panic, and that means he's unpredictable. Not entirely so, because she knows him better than she knows herself some days, but enough that she can't be certain where he's gone.

Then, as she's passing by a boring stretch of wall, she spots a strange shape to the shadows. It's barely visible in the dim light, but it's familiar. A faint memory of sneaking into the Panopticon through the tunnels pushes to the front of her mind, and the Doctor grins. Now, at least, she knows where the Master went.

The tunnels seem to wrap around themselves, growing increasingly convoluted as the Master walks. How he ever managed to find his way through here as a child is beyond him. No, he's trying very hard  _ not _ to think about his childhood right now. Because that inevitably leads to thoughts of Theta and that leads to the crushing guilt and fury weighing down his hearts and  _ damn it _ there it is again. At this rate, he'll never make it out of here.

Maybe that would be for the best. Maybe he should just die down here and- no. If he does that, the Doctor will never know who she really is, what's been done to her, and he'll never get to watch Gallifrey  _ burn _ for it. He needs to keep going.

The Master comes to another fork in the tunnels and blindly heads left. After only a few steps, his time senses go wild, making his already throbbing headache worse. He staggers to a stop, leaning against the wall. Or, rather, what he thought was a wall. Of course, he isn't that lucky.

Tracking the Master through the tunnels is much easier than through the Panopticon. The trail of disturbance in the centuries of dust is plain to see in the light of the Doctor's sonic, and she follows it through the winding corridors.

At one point, there's a different shape to the dustless area, as if the Master sat down for a moment there. Even without trying, the Doctor feels a sudden wave of residual emotion lingering in that place,  _ confusionragehatred _ all blended together into a potent cocktail that stayed even after the Master continued deeper. She tries not to shiver.

Finally, she comes to yet another fork in the path and sees the trail head left. It only takes a few steps for her to stop in her tracks. Her nose stings with the smell of warping time, and she can tell even without looking further that she's on the edge of the TARDIS graveyard. Stars, she hopes the Master isn't still in here. The thought of what could happen to him…

As she shines her sonic across the floor and walls, her hearts plummet like stones. What she'd thought was another section of wall is decidedly  _ not _ \- it's a TARDIS. The section of brickwork hanging open leads to a dark console room, and she can just make out a figure on the floor.

She hopes against hope that it isn't him, keeping the beam of her sonic's light off of what she refuses to think of as the body until she can no longer avoid it. There, at her feet, is the Master.

The Doctor sinks to her knees so quickly she winces, but all of her focus is on him. He's breathing, if unsteadily, and he doesn't seem to be on the verge of regeneration, which is a relief. However, that's about where the good news ends.

When she puts two fingers to his neck, checking his pulse, she feels one solitary heartbeat. She panics, rolls him onto his back and presses her ear to his chest.

_ Thu-thump. Thu-thump. _

She can't lose him like this. She can't watch him die here. She can't have him die in her arms again.

Before she can think the better of it, the Doctor's summoning regeneration energy to the surface, drawing from the resevoir deep inside herself and trying to  _ push _ it into the Master. It doesn't work- why doesn't it work? Is she too late?

Frantic, her hearts beating so hard she can hear the blood rushing in her ears, the Doctor scans him with her sonic. The first time she sees the result, she scans him again, desperate for a different answer.

Dutifully, the sonic repeats itself. Species: Human. Status: Unconscious, Unharmed. Recommended Solution: None.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to yell at me in the comments, I probably deserve it


End file.
